Tempest: England
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Restless from the life in Aman, Thranduil Oropherion returns to Arda. A short glimpse in his life. Companion piece to "Tempest At War". One-shot. Complete. Part of the Green Leaves Universe. Do not own. Please read and review!


**Tempest: England**

 **Summary:** Restless from the life in Aman, Thranduil Oropherion returns to Arda. A short glimpse in his life. Companion piece to "Tempest At War".

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise. This is connected to my series "Tempest".

My stories are now available in the form of a list in chronological sequence on my bio.

Enjoy!

 **~S~**

Thomas - was a young handsome man with serious grey eyes, a solid built and a small habitual smile on his face. He always dressed impressively, kept a polite and calm demeanour and as the rumours would have it, lived a life of a bachelor well-fixed in his ways.

He had a modest estate in the countryside run by a small army of servants. He disliked large, overly social gatherings but he was good company. His servants were loyal to him, and his cook was fond of him as if she were his birth mother. He was called rarely at his home, which was a small version of a complete mansion. But he answered the invitations from his close friends quickly. Though old-fashioned and eccentric, he was amiable with his pleasant manners.

The women paid him a closer look, and even men admitted he was charming when it came to his appearance. He was taller than most men, well-muscled from his frequent exercises and outdoor activities. Some said he helped his servants tend to the small farm growing on his estate and collected the harvest with them. Since he rarely held parties in his own estate, most of the product was given to the servants and he kept only a small part for himself. Besides his muscled form, he had misty grey eyes set under arched eyebrows with a straight nose, a prominent jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes were a wonder, because if one looked directly in them, they sensed his joy with his streak of mischief and restlessness that belonged more to a youthful boy than a young eligible man but mixed in them was unfathomable amount of sadness and sorrow as if he witnessed great terrible things in so short a life.

And it was true, in a way. Rumours mentioned how his father died in battle and his mother died long ago in some unknown sickness. They knew that Thomas never liked to speak of his parents but only that they loved him dearly and he them. The servants, as faithful as they were, refused to divulge his secrets to nosy spinsters and fathers of marriageable women looking for an increase in their own property and name through their daughters. So all in all, Thomas was well protected from the harms of social murmurs.

If there were faults in him, they were definitely two; his ears and his marital status. His ears were most peculiar. For all his handsome appearance and gentile manner, he was deformed most hideously at his ears, which curved slightly to form tips hidden from view when he carefully arranged his bright golden hair over them and tied his hair at the nape of his neck. Thomas kept them mostly hidden, but at times they simply peeked out under his locks. Still, his mannerisms and the rest of his appearance drew people to him like moths to a flame.

His other flaw was his marital status. There was great doubt circling about it. Some said he married for love and his wife died tragically not too long ago. Some said he was single, averse to marriage when he realised marriage was more for power and wealth rather than love. Others questioned his interests all together.

"I admit, my good friend, you leave us all in suspicion." His closest friend, an elderly man by the name of George White, said to him. It was in a friendly jest but his eyes gleamed with question and intrigue. "You answer a lot of questions but living those concerning yourself in riddles."

Thomas smiled mysteriously and said nothing. Instead, he quietly situated himself near the open window to escape the cigar's acrid fumes. George took the hint and pressed his cigar's end on an ashtray even when he knew he put a good one to waste.

Thomas was eccentric as well. He had an appetite for lore and history. His English possessed a German lilt to it. It was faded, of course, overcome by the succinct British accent until only the military-affiliated gentlemen picked the difference. Some looked at him with suspicion but others were more understanding.

"You must have served during the World War," one of the remarked when he met Thomas. "One cannot come across them and not pick up some of their traits, those bastards." Thomas still smiled but all in the room saw the silent unease under his calm form. The military man who spoke slapped him good-naturally on his shoulder from one soldier to another. "Well, it's a good thing then we managed to defeat those German dogs, eh?" He laughed.

"Quite," Thomas only replied. His voice still remained low like always and his expression masked his feelings, like whether he was offended by the man's callousness or agreed with it.

From time to time, fathers often tried to hint to him their daughters were available for marriage. Thomas usually answered with feigned interest that was so mild it reminded most gentlemen of milk with too much water. Mothers were the same, but some were too determined and asked him outright rather than hint the prospects of marriage. Those he refused carefully but firmly. His refusals always insulted them, but it couldn't be helped.

British were always fond of nicknames and Thomas soon gathered some of his own. He was mostly called 'Tom' or 'Tommy'. His cook called him 'Tommy' with a maternal love in his nickname. The women of his closest and dearest friends alternated with the nicknames and called him with whatever was comfortable. His servants called him by name and rarely with 'Sir' or 'Mister'.

His eccentric ways didn't end there; his sorrow was sometimes palpable but once and twice his gentlemen friends caught him at his worst schoolboy antics. One time, when they toured the countryside, he managed to free a stable full of horses with preening stallions and skittish mares... In front of a group of ladies. It was a scandalous thing to do, but the men found the humour in it. Another time in London, he visited the slums in a region where poor blacks lived and danced and sang with them on a night where he was invited to a gala held by a gentleman of high rank in banking. As surprising, different and simply unacceptable as it was, some admired him for his courage which bluntly stated aloud that he was willing to do what he thinks was best in his own time and way.

The worst eccentricity he possessed, however, was his untimely youth.

It clung to him like an unwavering fragrance. His handsome features did not diminish over the years. Rather, they matured and grew finer over time, if it were possible. Some remarked how his face was best suitable if it were carved into marble for safekeeping. Others claimed it would not do him justice; let him sit for a portrait instead. Thomas was not keen for either and waved their suggestions away.

"I am just an average Englishman, if you would believe," Thomas always insisted in his British-accented English with a bare lilt of German hidden beneath the folds. They never paid his German lilt any mind, convinced he caught it when he was in service for the Crown.

"Average Englishman," one of his fellow 'young' friends scoffed. "If he is average, then I am surely an ogre in looks!"

"Which isn't too far from the truth," another teased.

His strangeness was an amusement at first, then it turned to odd curiosity until it finally reached to distrust. It was that distrust at his seemingly endless youth that distanced him from his circle of friends.

And it was then he decided it was time.

oOo

"Have I ever spoken to you of my wife?" Thomas asked his cook as she set down his tray for afternoon tea. She always insisted on bringing his tea herself.

"No, you haven't, Thomas," she answered. Her name was Anne, a short plump woman with rosy red cheeks and thin sheet of light brown hair covering her head and ending in a bun at the back of her head. She had two children of her own, both of them girls which she raised just as nimble and alert as herself.

Thomas offered her a faint smile and looked down at the ring he wore on his index finger. It was old and antique in fashion. Many tried to guess its age and Thomas didn't try to correct them when they insisted it was perhaps as old as Elizabethan era. In fact, it was much, much older.

"She was beautiful," Thomas said softly. He looked up and found Anne smiling kindly down at him. He gestured her to sit across from him. She complied and sat on an ornate golden chair with overstuffed red and gold patterned cushions that matched his. "She had black hair and bright blue eyes and she barely reached my shoulder." Thomas laughed lightly. "But she was smart as a whip and a smile as bright as any treasure."

"What happened to her?" Anne asked, dreading the worst. He spoke as if she was no longer with them.

"She left." Thomas' head dropped. A stray lock of gold slipped from his band and fell over his face, obscuring his expression from Anne. "If I am to ever meet her, it will be beyond this world, I am afraid." Anne reached forward and patted his wrist in comfort. Thomas smiled at her.

"Do you have any children, Thomas?"

"One," 'Thomas' answered. "She gave me a healthy boy. I love him dearly."

"Where is he now?"

"Oh," Thomas laughed. "Discovering the world, I assume. He is lively, and the boy always loved exploration."

"How long has it been since you last met him?" Anne asked, surprised. She never saw a young man, looking like Thomas, come for as long as she worked for him.

"Long," Thomas only said, "before the war, at least."

"Oh," was all Anne said. Then she shook her head and stood up. "You take your afternoon tea and get some rest, Thomas," Anne said briskly. She picked up the open book that lay wide open and forgotten on a small polished chestnut table. She closed it with a snap and pushed it in its empty space in a bookshelf.

When she left, Thomas fixed himself tea and lifted his cup to his lips. Before he sipped, he murmured, "That's not my name."

 **~S~**

 **Author's Note:**

Some of the readers wanted a brief glimpse of Thranduil in England, as mentioned in Tempest: Modern Age. I wrote this and then forgot about it. But here it is. :)

This may make more sense if you read the main series. They are as follows, that is, if you like to read them:

1\. Tempest: Modern Age. (Complete and currently being republished.)

2\. Tempest: Stronghold. (Complete)

3\. Tempest: Prophecy. (In Progress)

4\. Tempest: Shade. (Unwritten)

Companion Pieces are:

1\. Tempest: Queen of Mirkwood.

2\. Tempest: England.


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